The room was filled with warmth, a typical evening at home. The television cast a soft glow, blending with the muffled clatter of dishes from the kitchen. The occasional giggle of siblings added to the cozy atmosphere.
She lounged on the couch, carefree and laughing at her favorite show, occasionally reaching for a handful of popcorn from the bowl on her lap. Her amusement filled the room, her laughter bright and infectious. But the lighthearted moment didn't last long.
Her younger sibling dashed into the room, eyes glinting with mischief. Without warning, they grabbed the remote from her hand and flung it across the room.
"Hey!" she snapped, irritation flashing in her eyes. Without thinking, she lightly smacked the child on the head.
"Mom, she hit me!" the little one wailed, tears spilling down their cheeks as they pointed accusingly at her.
From the kitchen came their mother's sharp reprimand. "What's wrong with you? Picking on a kid?"
She huffed, crossing her arms. "Well, it's their fault—" she started, but her sentence trailed off. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at the crying child, her pettiness adding fuel to the fire.
Her sibling cried louder, but she didn't care. Smirking, she picked up the remote and leaned back on the couch, finger hovering over the buttons to change the channel.
And then, everything shifted.
The remote slipped from her hand as if the weight of it had suddenly multiplied. The bowl of popcorn toppled, spilling its contents onto the floor in a cascade of white kernels. The crash of the bowl hitting the tiled floor sliced through the silence, shattering it like glass.
Her breath caught, her eyes wide and unblinking as they fixed on the television screen.
Her mother's hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway. "What broke? What's going on here?" Her voice was sharp but wavered slightly as she entered the room. Her gaze landed on her daughter, who sat frozen on the floor, pale as a sheet and trembling.
"Sweetheart? What's wrong?" Her mother's voice softened, laced with growing concern.
The girl didn't answer. Her lips moved, but the words that escaped were barely audible. "No… This isn't real… It can't be…"
Her mother's gaze flicked to the television. On the screen was a breaking news broadcast. The reporter spoke with grim authority:
"Authorities are calling for witnesses to come forward. The incident, believed to be intentional, has sent shockwaves through the community. Updates will follow."
The screen shifted to shaky, amateur video footage from a cell phone. The camera, held by a trembling hand, focused on the rooftop of the school building. A girl was visible, momentarily silhouetted against the fading light, before she stumbled and fell out of frame. The video ended abruptly, the culprit completely obscured by the angle of the camera..
Her mother gasped, clasping a hand over her mouth. "Oh my God… What is this?"
But the girl was already moving, bolting out of the room without a word. Her mother's shouts faded as she disappeared down the hallway.
Inside her room, she locked the door and began tearing through her bag, scattering its contents in her frantic search. Her trembling hands finally found her phone. She fumbled over the screen, quickly dialing a number.
The line connected on the first ring.
"Did you see the news?" Her voice was shaky, cracking under the weight of panic.
"Yes." The reply was calm, detached, almost unnervingly so.
"What are we going to do? If she speaks up, we're doomed!" Her voice rose, hysteria creeping in.
A low, chilling chuckle echoed from the other end. "Why are you so scared? It's not like this is your first time."
"What—what do you mean?" she stammered, her grip tightening on the phone.
The voice on the other end was mocking now. "Do you really think someone like her can do anything? She's a nobody. That's the beauty of it. Even if she tries to talk, no one will believe her."
"But what if—" she began, her panic threatening to spill over.
"No what ifs. Just act like nothing happened. You know the drill." The line went dead with a click.
She stared at the phone in her hand, her panic slowly giving way to a cold resolve.
When she emerged from her room, her expression was calm, her demeanor unnervingly composed.
"Mom, could you get me some more popcorn? I spilled mine," she said, her voice light and casual, as though the events of the past few minutes hadn't happened.
Her mother hesitated, her worry evident. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She smiled brightly. "Of course. It's nothing."
Returning to the couch, she picked up the remote and switched the channel. Her favorite show resumed, its cheerful colors filling the room once more. But her gaze wasn't on the screen.
Her eyes were distant, calculating, as her thoughts spiraled into a darker place.
One thought echoed in her mind, bringing a faint, sinister smirk to her lips.
Yes. She's just nobody.
****
The city's skyline glittered like a sea of stars, its beauty masking the sinister undercurrents lurking beneath its surface. In a grand penthouse perched above it all, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating. The occupant of the room stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, their figure bathed in the pale glow of moonlight. A phone rested in their trembling hand, the call just ended, but the words exchanged still echoed in their mind.
The glass was cool against their fingers as they pressed their palm to it, their other hand gripping the phone so tightly that their knuckles turned white. Then, with a sudden burst of rage, they hurled the phone at the window. The crash was deafening, shards of glass raining down like jagged stars onto the pristine floor.
Their chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, but it wasn't panic that consumed them—it was something far darker. Their reflection in the fractured glass was distorted, a fragmented version of themselves that matched the chaos swirling in their head.
"Why…" they whispered, their voice barely audible. Then, louder, almost a snarl: "Why did you have to come back?"
They turned away from the shattered window, their shadow stretching across the room, long and imposing. Their lips curled into a twisted smile, one devoid of warmth or humor. "Did you miss us?"
A low, guttural laugh escaped their throat, growing louder, unhinged. It filled the vast penthouse, bouncing off the walls and amplifying the sense of isolation. The laughter didn't stop—it morphed into something wild, almost feral, as if it was the only way they could release the storm brewing inside.
When the laughter finally subsided, they stood still, their shoulders shaking, a single tear slipping down their cheek. But the tear wasn't one of sadness. No, it glistened with something far more dangerous—a mix of rage, longing, and obsession.
Their voice dropped to a chilling whisper, one that carried through the empty room like a ghost's lament. "I missed you, too…"
They moved to a nearby table, their fingers brushing over a photograph partially hidden beneath a stack of papers. The face in the photo stared back at them, smiling innocently, unaware of the storm they had stirred.
"I missed you so much," they continued, their tone now disturbingly tender, as if speaking to an old lover. "But don't worry…"
They lifted the photo, holding it up to the light, their eyes narrowing as their smile grew more sinister. "I'll be waiting for you. And when you come back…"
Their grip tightened on the photo, crumpling its edges. "When you come back, you'll realize you never should have left. You'll regret thinking you ever could."
They let the photograph slip from their fingers, watching as it fluttered to the floor. The city lights outside the broken window cast fractured patterns across their face, illuminating the wicked determination in their eyes.
The silence returned, but it was different now—charged with the promise of something terrible. They stared into the night, their smile lingering, their thoughts consumed by one single truth.
This wasn't over. It was only the beginning.